Corn, Ronald M.

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MANUSCRIPTS 27The Friend of ManRonald M. CornRUFUS was worried. It was getting late and he had not accorn-plished anything all day. He had visited almost all the res-taurants and taverns in the neighborhood and could find noone. And he thought it strange, for everyone seemed so happy. Butsurely, he reasoned, there was at least one person that needed hishelp. Sighing, he clutched his overcoat collar tighter around hisneck and ears. He had to find someone soon, for it was gettingcolder by the minute and the wind was becoming stronger. He stoodshifting his weight from one cold foot to the other, and every sooften he curled his toes inside his shoes-trying to increase thecirculation. Standing hidden in the shadows of a store-front, hesearched the scene in front of him for a prospect. He scanned thepeople who dashed in and out of a barroom across the street. Fromexperience he knew that they were the likely ones. But so far, thebarroom had attracted and given up only what appeared to be satis-fied customers. He yanked off a glove and fumbled deep inside hisclothing, plucking out a large and blackened pocket-watch. It waseighteen minutes past ten o'clock. Not much time left. The restaur-ants would be closing by now and in less than two hours the tavernswould lock their doors for the night.It started to snow-blurring his view with a reeling whiteness.He shivered, pressing his arms against his bundled body. He de-spised the cold and he hated more the sting of snow. He pulled hishead deeper within the protection of his coat and stepped back intothe darkened recess of the store-front. He grew impatient as hewatched the scurrying forms. The wind moaned like the" distant cryof a bugle, whipping the snow into swirls, and the people quickenedtheir steps, bending against the force of the gusts. They trundledpast him-their individuality fading away in the snow and the night.But Rufus remained vigilant, for he had ways of knowing them-knowing their peculiarities despite the vieling effect of the weather.It wasn't hard for him. At first it had been difficult and he hadmade mistakes. But now, after many years of devoting himself tohelping others, he had learned to know the signs, and these signshad not failed him in over-well, not for a long, long time.Surely, someone would soon appear, He glanced hopefully inboth directions, but not a soul was in sight. Behind tight cold lips,his teeth clattered uncontrollably. A red glow flared behind thefrosted plate glass of the barroom, beckoning to his chilled and shiver-ing body. For Rufus, a man with such a warm and congenial na-ture, the allurement was great. But he was used to temptation, andbesides, he disliked" sitting in a tavern by himself. It made him self-conscious. He forced his mind fr0111 the torment of the weather.Instead, he mused over the many whom he had helped in life. He28 MANUSCRIPTS/was proud of his success. All those people thro_ugh the years thathad known nothing but trouble. Now they had found refuge. Andit was all because of him. Yes, he was proud, for not many coul.clsay that they had spent so m~lch time in th~ tru~ service of the~rfellow man. He recalled the first one to receive his attention. Let ssee now. What was his name? He often had trouble rememberingnames for there had been so many. Was it O'Malley? Yes, thatwas it'. Michael O'Malley.'vVhat a fine man he was, but so im-petuous. I-Ie was a policeman and a traffic officer at that. But thenbeing a traffic officer had been Michael's plight. It hael been sucha trying job. All those cars and the drivers with their excuses andarguments. It had virtually ruined Michael's good nature. He ~adbecome obsessed with punishing law breakers. Soon, he was handingout more tickets than any other policeman on the force. And hisreputation had grown as the toughest cop in the department. Suchan unhappy man and such an unhappy life! But Rufus had changedall that. Michael O'Malley was no longer the hated policeman.Oh, there had been many like Michael O'Malley, and Rufus hadbeen able to help them all. There had been distraught husbands,nagging wives, prostitutes, successful business men, thieves, and evenan undetected murderer. Ru fus meditated a moment about the wo-men. He hoped that the next one would not be a woman. Theyusually carried on so, crying and sobbing as they told him theirtroubles. I-Ie hadn't taken count recently, yet it did seem like therehad been more women than men. Ah well, no matter, he thought.But what of his last recipient? Rufus's heart swelled with pridewhenever he thought of this. The man had been devoted like himsel f.though confused in his methods. Rufus would never forget his name,for the map represented the pinnacle of his own success. This un-fortunate had been the Reverend Marcus Blount-a man well likedand respected in both church and community, But he had been sucha tortured man when Ru Ius met him. And in his torture he hadpreachec! with. the power of thunder until the congregation verilyquaked III their pews. There was one in the congregation who hadquaked more than the others. That was the widow Clark. Mrs.Clark played the organ every Sunday. And when Rufus had firstheard her play, he had been intrigued, for it was immediately afterReverend Blount had finished his sermon-a sermon that dealt with"T~e ."Voman at the 'vVel!." And Mrs. Clark had pounded the organuntil It ~ounde~l as though the church might very well burst from itsfoundations WIth the music's soul-searching discords. It was thenthat Rufus realized the trouble, and in order to help the good Rev-erend Blount he had also to help the good widow Clark. But then,all ended well and Rufus had been very pleased. Every bit as pleasedas he now was in retrospect.But Rufus's reverie was interrupted by a brittle, grating soundthat shrieked from a large metal sign, hanging on the front of thebuilding that housed the tavern across the street. Its lettering wasMANUSCRIPTS 29blanked out by a plastering of driving snow and its creaking soundedon the wind as it swung back and forth upon wet hinzes. To Rufus,standing there in the loneliness of his shelter, it w,:;' a comfortingsound. And then, he almost shouted aloud, for the swinging signhad been an omen. At that moment he saw the per SOil he had beenwaiting for. Yes, it was true! There could be no mistake about it.There he was, a young man walking slowly along the street. Rufus'sheart leaped at the sight. Now he could consumate his service. Herestrained himsel f though, watching to make doubly sure. But hecould not be wrong, for this young man had the 1110stobvious symp-tOI11S. His shoulders were rounded with despair, and instead ofhurrying like the others he shuffled along as if he pursued an aim-less goal. Yes, here was a troubled heart, and Ru fus watched withrenewed vitality and warmth. The young man stopped in front ofthe tavern. He stood motionless, without looking up, and then turnedtoward the tavern door and went in. Oh, this was too much to askfor, thought Rufus. Now he would not only be able to help someonehut he would also be able to warm his aching bones at the same time.Happily, Rufus sauntered across the glazed street and followed theyoung man into the tavern. Inside, he welcomed the warmth. Ru {usreally felt fortunate this night.His furtive eyes searched the people sitting at the bar and thenturned to the booths along the opposite wall. And there he foundhis young man sitting in the last booth near the back of the room.Rufus took his time, gently shoving his way through the crowd ofextended elbows and overhanging rumps along the bar stools. Hestopped near the pay telephone and hung his dampened ash-greyovercoat on a wall hook, then carefully settled his glistening hom-burg on top of the coat. With his hat off, Rufus's bald head, em-braced with a halo of silver ringlets, glinted in the red lights thatflickered above the bar length mirror behind him. He was beginningto feel better already as the warmth and pungency of the smoke-filled room closed around him. Turning, he looked down at his longawaited prospect and greeted him cheerily."Good evening, young man, may I join you ?"The man's head jerked up. He grunted and Rufus could see thathe was squinting up at hirn through tears that were spilling downhis haggard young face. Rufus tried again."See here. I just thought you would like to talk to someone.May I sit clown?"The boy mumbled something and then stammered a reply."'Well, I . . . I guess . . . Sure, go ahead if you want to.""Thank you."Rufus slid in on the seat across from the young man. I-Ie noticedthat the boy's hands held a sheaf of papers that had been ripped inhalf. Then a waitress, heavily rouged, hipped her way to their tableand asked for their order. The boy muttered that he wantecl a30 MANUSCRIPTS/Sterling, while Rufus asked for a. double shot o.f old Bacchus andwater. Neither of them spoke until a fter the waitress had returnedwith their drinks and Ru fus had felt the warming glow of the whis-key as it radiated down through his chest to his stomach. Then Rufusopened the conversation."Well, now, young man, you seem to be distressed about some-thing. Would you like to talk about it ?"The boy had regained some of his composure and he looked atRufus curiously and a little amazed before he said, "Look, Mister,whoever you are, 1 . . ." ."Allow me, young sir," Rufus interrupted. "1 am Rufus Locki-man, friend of all men, philosopher, and at your service." .The boy blinked his eyes as if startled by what Rufus had saidand then he continued his remark."Look, I don't care who you are. You asked to sit down andhave a drink, not to drag out anybody's family skeletons." The boy'seyes were hard now, and his voice was bitter.Rufus looked at the young face for a moment, trying to fi!1dsoftness behind those steely eyes and finally he said quietly and WIthslow deliberation, "My boy, I watched you as you walked along thestreet out front, and 1 knew that you were in some kind 0 f trouble,and I ... well 1 just thought maybe 1 could help you."This time the boy's eyes did seem to soften and his face lookedconfused, as if he did not know what to say next.Rufus saw his chance and he said casually, "Suppose we beginwith your name.""It's ... it's Richard. Richard Long.""Vlell, then, Richard, I'm very glad to know you."Richard lowered his eyes, sipped at his beer, and with his lefthand drew the torn papers out of sight beneath the table.Rufus eyed him closely, and at the same time questioned, "What~Ioyou do Richard? You look like you might be young enough to be111 college. A re you?""No. I graduated last year. I'm a writer.""Well, that is nice. What sort of things do you write ?""Fiction. Humorous stuff mostly." -"Wonderful, wonderful! \i\T e need more humor now-a-days. Tellme, have you published anything yet?"Richard's eyes again resumed their hardness and the sensitive lineof his jaw tightened as he said with bitter emphasis, "No!"Rufus's tone was consoling. "Hmm. That is a shame. But Ihave known a few writers in my time, and I must say their liveswere not easy. Even the successful ones had difficult times at first.And they suffered. Some of them never stopped suffering. I sup-pose it's because of their conception of the reading public. Writerscan be very vain sometimes, you know. And they are a jealous lot.Jealous of themselves and jealous of their public. Yes, writing is ahard life in a cruel world. . . ."MANUSCRIPTS 31\iVhile Rufus talked he observed Richard's face. He saw theboy's eyes widen and the sensitive mouth soften. And he saw thattears were welling back into the eyes. Now Rufus knew that he wasmaking headway.", . . Yes, Richard, writing is indeed an exactinv art. But nowlet's talk about you, Do you write novels or stories ?"b"Both," Richard answered,"Gooel. That's fine, How many novels have you written?""One,""And it was rejected?""Yes.""Didn't they make any comments about it P""Oh yes, they did that all right.""Well, what did they say?"Richard stared downward at the slipping foam in his beer glassand he answered the question with a whisper."They said it was . , , that it was . . . they said it was putrid, ""Oh, I am sorry, Richard. That is too bad. It really is," Rufuspaused. \T oticing the boy's shoulders slump forward, he reasonedthat he would make a success of the situation yet. He continuedwith his questioning.I, Now then, what about your stories? You say that you writemostly humorous things. Have you written many?"Richard's reply came dully. "About a hundred.""A hundred humorous stories, Say, that is a lot. But out of ahundred stories they all couldn't be bad, What do the publisherssay about them?"Richard's reply was again dull and this time his voice dropped toan almost inaudible low."They said they weren't funny."Rufus waited a moment before he said anything else, He wantedto make sure that Richard Long was looking at him before he con-tinued. Finally Richard looked up and Rufus stared deeply andfixedly into the boy's troubled eyes, Then Rufus began slowly andin a monotone, what he had been waiting a long time to say,"Richard, those papers in YOUI' hand beneath the rable=-they'rea story you've torn up, isn't that correct ?"The boy nodded affinnatively."And it's another humorous story, isn't that also correct?"Richard nodded again."Well, then, it seems to me that you should try your hand witha di fferent tone in mind. I should think that you'd try somethingmore serious, especially after so many failures with humor. Yes,Richard, if I were you I would write, at least try to write, aboutmore serious things in life. After all, Richard, though we needmore humor in the world today, the fact remains that when we lookaround us, we fail to see much that is funny, Of beauty, there isplenty, but of humor there is little. So, as an example, Richard,32 MANUSCRIPTSwhy don't you tur~1 .to beauty. It car~ be. a. wonderful thing." Youcan find it in the living and you can fmd It ;n the dead.He paused, leaning c1os~r to Rich.ard's attentive face. .0;. • • A very close fnend of 111111e,you would know his name,Richard once said, 'Beauty is the virtue of the body, as virtue is thebeauty of the soul.' Now what about your soul? What about itsfathomless beauty?"Ru Ius's voice became more intense."Just think of it, Richard. The beauty of your soul. Shall youknow your soul, Richard? Shall you know its beauty? Of courseyou will. You will know it Richard, because you have suffered."Rufus leaned closer, his voice reaching a higher pitch."And if you come with me, you will know it. You will have yourchance. The chance that only I can give you, Richard. So come.Know the victory. Know the beauty. Know the wonder of totalrelease that shall be yours. Come Richard. Come. Come with me."Rufus's voice rose to the words. So also did he slowly rise fromthe table and Richard rose with him and they left the tavern, leavingtheir coats where they hung, and they walked through the whitenessof the snow and they walked to the pale river and it was not faraway./ Regina-Oh No!Ruth PallerGWI~E carried l~er pecan roll and cl~p.of steaming coffee to thewindow seat m an alcove of the d111111Cfroom."I'll have my coffee now before th~ crowd gets here. ThenJ can pour for you, Susan. Is your symphony speech all ready?"Susan placed a tray of hot rolls 011 the table. They gave off asmell of carmelized sugar and toasted nuts."I don't have to say much," she replied. "Mrs. Bingenham willgive the speech. After all, she's supported the orchestra for years.All 1: have to do is pass out the names to be solicited by the C0111-mittee, "Gayle put down her cup and lit a cigarette. She stretched her legsand leaned back in the sunny alcove."It's lucky the painters got out of here in time for the meeting.You must be exhausted! I love what you've done to this room. Thesoft coca walls, this gold drapery print-it's perfect. It's-"She sat up abruptly."Look who's coming up your driveway! I could swear ReginaLord's name wasn't on the committee list. I crossed it off myselfwhen I heard she was going to Florida-thank goodness.""She flew home yesterday. Seems she couldn't stand the servicein three different hotels.""Well, for Pete's sake! Did you have to call her right up andinvite her. I know your husbands are in business together-but

The Friend of Man

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The Friend of Man

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